Crayola Crayons
by sinking815
Summary: As she shares a moment with Jack on the beach, Kate realizes some things in life can't be named like the colors of a crayon. JK Mild adult situation. Oneshot.


_Crayola Crayons_  
_By Sinking815_  
_September 4th, 2006_

_A/N: Sat down to write the next chapter for Red In The Morning, but my lovely muse convinced me that this was the number one priority. How come the second you commit yourself to a chapter-by-chapter story, the one-shots in your head start exploding then and there. Of course, if I wasn't in the middle of what is now becoming practically novel-length, I'd be bored and irritated that I didn't have a muse… I guess that's what they call life, huh? Anyways, no more philosophy, please read and review!_

_Oh and short warning: This does contain what some might consider an "adult situation". Nothing graphic but the idea's implied._

The shower had worked wonders over her stressed and weary body. That was if you counted the five minutes of towelling off when she wasn't moping about her current predicament. But the second she looked to the tiled floor, standing perfectly still and watching the excess water roll down the spirals of her hair and drip onto her folded clothes, her testiness had returned full force. It was as if the spray of water from the pulsating showerhead was the only thing during these times of the month that could offer any relief. Anywhere else just seemed to magnify her uncomfortable situation.

Which didn't explain why she was currently seated in the deep sand, the heat from the setting sun radiating in all its intensity against her flushed face, the wind whipping her damp hair into tangles she had painstakingly worked out with her fingers, the spots of dripped water on her shirt cold from the moving air. The hair on her arms rose and her orange-tinted skin bumped up in little goosebumps despite the heat and humidity of twilight.

Another spasm of agony ripped through her system and Kate clenched her jaw, focusing all of her attention, or what wasn't being consumed by her cramps, to the vibrant colors of the horizon. She isolated one of the peachy oranges just above the water's edge and racked her brain for the Crayola crayon color that it was closest to. When she decided on "apricot", she moved onto a different color, allowing one hand to clutch uselessly at the small of her back as she rode out another twinge.

She was debating between "tickle-me-pink" and "pink carnation" when his shadow appeared beside her, stretching taller with each step until she could see the dark shapes of his socked feet against the dusty sand. She didn't turn her head to acknowledge him and he didn't ask permission to seat himself next to her. After the few months they'd been marooned together on this island, certain parts of their relationship were simply understood.

Even so, it only took a moment of feigning indifference to her discomfort and then the doctor in him won out. Just like she knew it would.

"When did it start?" he asked, his eyes squinting at the fiery ball barely touching the edge of the water some number of miles from where they were now seated. Kate never let herself think that far away; she was afraid if she let her mind wander that far, it might not come back.

"Yesterday afternoon," she replied, her tone betraying no unease despite the sensitivity of the subject.

"You try walking?"

"A little bit," she offered, as a half-answer before realizing that he was only trying to help, not pry and feeling guilty at her curtness. "Sometimes I just think it's better to sit still and try not to breathe."

The chuckle at her side was the first reason she looked over at him. Moments where a genuine smile, let alone a real laugh, broke out across his handsome face were memories she liked to hold onto. They made her feel safe when she was alone at night on the beach, thinking of him somewhere deep in the jungle, too near to the dangers that lurked there for her peace of mind. Although, she'd never tell him that. Or anyone else for that matter.

"Must be hard for you then," he said, unknowingly interrupting her muse. He caught her eye, a foxy glint in his setting up for his gentle tease. "Sitting still, I mean, not…"

The devious look faded along with his sentence and Kate knew he was feeling awkward because he started fidgeting with his hands, eventually letting them drop between his knees in defeat. When he glanced up at her, she offered him an amused smile, finding herself flushing at her own unease. She knew exactly what Crayola color was staining her cheeks.

They fell together into a tense silence, each wanting to keep up the pretense of substantial conversation that was really nothing but mindless chit-chat. That was another dynamic of their friendship. Avoid anything of substance like the plague.

"I could try…"

"No thanks, Jack," she said quickly, before the idea of his offer could fully materialize in her mind. She knew if she allowed it to be spoken, it would haunt her into the night and she would not only pine for his presence, but also for the touch she knew would ease that grinding in her tummy. "I don't need to be babied."

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Kate knew she was going to get a lecture. Well, not a lecture, more like an exasperated sigh and then a line or two of him defending her against herself. Jack always did that, as if he had something to prove.

"Kate, trying to ease your pain is not 'being babied'."

"I know, I just…" She bit her lip, feeling a sudden uncomfortableness at having the ball in her court and admitting her unease at being touched and held by him of all people. It was ridiculous really, she realized, her gaze falling into her lap, her hands mimicking subconsciously his gestures only moments before. What was she supposed to say? I can't because that's what I want?

"All right. Then we'll just sit."

Ever the diplomat.

"You have a lot of guts comin' over here and starting a conversation with a girl during 'that time of the month'," she teased. Mentally, she pictured herself tossing him back the ball. "I don't think I've ever known any guy that insane."

He chuckled again and Kate beamed inside, feeling her count rise to two laughs in one night.

"My wife used to tell me the same thing."

The use of the past tense was not lost on Kate and this time she couldn't stop herself from finding his eyes and holding his stare. The pain she saw reflected there tore her up more effectively than any cramp ever could and for a moment, the emotional rawness took over the physical throb.

"She left me… for someone else." He dropped his head, breaking their locked gaze, and stared at his hands, his shoulders sinking with his resignated sigh. "I guess I didn't _baby_ her enough."

Her face was enough of the sympathetic statement that everyone spouted off whether they truly shared in his hurt or not. And he braced himself, expecting to hear the cliché apology roll off her tongue just as easily as it had rolled off his colleagues' and friends'. What Kate actually said was the last thing he expected.

"Hey Jack." She paused, waiting for him to look up to catch his eye, her hand finding his forearm that was draped casually over his bent knee. "Her loss."

His grateful smile at her attempt to cheer him up melted into another tense silence, not awkward in nature, just heavy with the spoken admission still floating through the twilight air. It needed a moment to sink into her and to evaporate fully off of him. After a few seconds, Kate felt the familiar bump the ball rolling gently to a stop at her legs.

"You know," she said softly, her tone low and quiet enough Jack had to incline his head slightly to make out the words her barely moving lips whispered. "You sitting here like this _is_ babying me."

He smiled at her, appreciating the returned gesture, pulling his arm back through her easy grip and interlocking his fingers with her own. She didn't pull away, so he didn't let go. Giving her hand a friendly squeeze, he accepted the statement she left unfinished and replied, "You're very welcome."

He held her gaze for a moment and then turned to watch the sun sink slowly into the ocean for another night. She watched him and then glanced to the sky, the deep velvet of it like a comforting blanket spreading over their pained silhouettes. As they sat in quiet contemplation, Kate knew there wasn't a Crayola crayon to describe them. They just were.


End file.
